Christie Golden - War Crimes

“Much more prosaic a reason—this portal won’t stay open forever.” He suddenly chuckled. “Well,” he amended, flashing white teeth in a wry grin, “theoretically it can, but that’s neither here nor there in this particular moment. High Chieftain Baine, if you please?”

Baine turned to Cloudsong. “I thank you for everything, Kador. But duty calls.”

“In an elven accent, it seems,” said Cloudsong, but bowed nevertheless. “Go, High Chieftain, with, I am certain, your father’s blessing.”

The meal was light and simple: pine nut bread, Darnassian bleu cheese, and fresh lunar pears, all washed down with moonberry juice. Here in the temple of her beloved Elune, Tyrande told Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage of the events that had occurred earlier in the Temple of the White Tiger.

She had been pleased to learn that Taran Zhu had appointed a mage for the purpose of portaling those involved in the trial. Yu Fei was a sweet-faced pandaren whose silken robe was crafted with the hues of water, which matched the single unruly lock of hair that demurely hid one blue eye.

“Chu’shao Whisperwind,” Yu Fei had said, using the Pandaren term for “counselor” and bowing deeply as she introduced herself, “I am honored to send you home until your duties require you here. Do not hesitate to call upon me if you need my assistance.”

“Love, are you certain you wish to undertake this task?” asked the archdruid. Feathers that now grew from his arms, reminders of millennia spent in the Emerald Dream, brushed the tabletop as he poured her a second cup of moonberry juice. Tyrande realized she had grown used to the changes that had affected Malfurion during his long slumber: the feathers, the feet that now were more like a nightsaber’s than an elf’s, the length and thickness of his great green beard. No outward appearance could change the beauty of his inner heart to her, though. He was, and would ever be, her beloved.

Malfurion continued, “You do not know how long the trial will take, or indeed, where it will take you .”

Tyrande sipped the drink, cool and sweet as the forests at night. “The eyes of the world will be on this trial, my heart. And,” she remarked, smiling, “you are more than capable of taking care of anything that should arise in my absence. I will be able to return home every night to be with you, which is a blessing from Elune herself. As for where it will take me”—here her voice hardened slightly—“it is likely I will have to do very little, save present the evidence. Garrosh has had few who have loved him these many moons past, fewer still now that his brutal rampage has been stopped.”

His face was somber as he searched her eyes. “I did not ask how you would fare in the trial, but rather, what it would do to you.”

Tyrande was surprised and slightly perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“You are a high priestess, devoted to Elune, who champions enlightenment and healing. And when need be, you are fierce in battle. But you will be working with words, which are slippery and fickle things, not your beautiful heart. And you will be inciting hatred and a desire to condemn, not enlightenment.”

“In the end, the facts that I present will provide enlightenment and understanding, and condemning Garrosh appropriately will eventually bring healing,” she said. He still looked troubled and opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak further, a female voice came from outside the pavilion where Tyrande and her mate were taking their meal.

“My lady?”

“You may enter, Cordressa.”

A slender hand lifted the gauzy flap, and the Sentinel poked her midnight-blue head in. “You have a visitor. She says she has come on trial business, and the matter is urgent.”

Malfurion raised an eyebrow in query, and Tyrande shook her head, as surprised as he. “Of course, Cordressa. Show her in.”

The Sentinel stepped back, holding the pavilion flap, and indicated that the mysterious visitor could enter.

The guest was a gnome with silver hair rolled up in twin buns on either side of her slightly freckled face. Wide green eyes sparkled with pleasure as she greeted Tyrande and Malfurion.

“Archdruid, High Priestess—so nice to see you both again! Terribly sorry to bother you, Chu’shao, but I fear it’s quite important.”

Chu’shao. Of course, that was another title Tyrande now bore, for at least a time. “Certainly, Chromie.” Tyrande smiled, sinking gracefully into a kneeling position before the bronze dragon Chronormu so they might look eye to eye. At the mention of the dragon’s name, the Sentinel quietly dropped the pavilion flap to give them privacy. “How may I help?”

“The celestials have something they’d like both you and Chu’shao Bloodhoof to utilize as you present your cases. It’s easier just to show you. Would you mind coming with me, please?”

Upon his arrival at the Temple of the White Tiger, Baine bowed to Yu Fei, thanked her for portaling him there, and turned to the leader of the Shado-pan.

“Greetings, Lord Taran Zhu. Kairozdormu has brought me as you requested.”

Baine glanced about as he spoke. The Temple of the White Tiger seemed even more cavernous at night. Moonlight and lamps provided some illumination, but even so, the upper seats were shrouded in shadow. Baine noticed that furnishings appropriate for the trial had been brought in. There were three areas—one for him and Garrosh, one for Tyrande, and one for the fa’shua and witnesses. The Accuser and Defender sections were identical, with rectangular tables, covered by a crimson and gold cloth, and simple chairs. One section was set up in the circle located in the west; the other, with two chairs, in the east. Baine assumed this side was for him and Garrosh. The tables had empty pitchers and glasses, along with ink, quills, and parchment neatly arranged, presumably for note taking.

Taran Zhu, however, would be seated on an elevated dais in a chair that was more ornate than the others, but nowhere near as lavish as the throne high in the north part of the spectator area. Beside the chair were a small gong and mallet. On the floor in front of Taran Zhu’s seat and slightly to the left was the witness chair, with a little table where an empty pitcher and glass now sat.

This much Baine had been told to expect. But there was another set of tables and chairs, placed to the side and slightly behind Taran Zhu’s chair, which bore an item draped with a black cloth.

“May I ask what that is?”

“It is the reason why I have asked you here at this hour,” said Taran Zhu, providing a perfectly fine explanation while providing none at all. He forestalled Baine’s next question by holding up a paw. “When Chu’shao Whisperwind has arrived, all will be revealed. Patience.”

“I was pulled away from a ritual ceremony on the grounds that time was of the essence. I’m certain you can appreciate that, right now, I have little interest in patience,” Baine replied.

Taran Zhu gave the bronze dragon standing beside Baine a reproachful glance. “Yu Fei could have reopened the portal a few moments later, Kairozdormu. She would not have minded. I know you are not as familiar as your Alliance counterpart with the ways of the younger races, but you must learn to respect them.”

Kairozdormu looked discomfited. “I am sorry. You are correct. She has the advantage over me. I trust Chu’shao Bloodhoof will accept my apologies and help me to know better the tauren ways.”

Baine was only slightly mollified. The dragon hadn’t interrupted the key part of the ceremony, but the elements also did not abide not being properly thanked for their presence. He decided to let it go and focus instead on something else Taran Zhu had said. “Alliance counterpart . . . ?”